Chicken Soup for the Chocolate Lover's Soul: Indulging Our Sweetest Moments [NOOK Book]


If you can’t live without a daily bite of chocolate, or have visions of chocolate truffles dancing in your head, then you’ll savor this decadent collection of stories  
Chicken Soup for the Chocolate Lover’s Soul celebrates the chocoholic’s undeniable passion for indulgence in all things chocolate—whether white, milk, or dark; frozen, powdered, pudding, or pie; melted or whipped. 

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Chicken Soup for the Chocolate Lover's Soul: Indulging Our Sweetest Moments

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If you can’t live without a daily bite of chocolate, or have visions of chocolate truffles dancing in your head, then you’ll savor this decadent collection of stories  
Chicken Soup for the Chocolate Lover’s Soul celebrates the chocoholic’s undeniable passion for indulgence in all things chocolate—whether white, milk, or dark; frozen, powdered, pudding, or pie; melted or whipped. 

Meet fellow fanatics who have gone the extra mile all in the name of chocolate; revel in stories of romance and friendship that have been sweetened by chocolate; and read how the sweet smell of anything cocoa has impacted and enhanced the lives of so many people. 

Throughout this entertaining collection of stories, you will also find delicious morsels of interesting trivia, informative history, and humorous anecdotes. 

So, sit back with this book (and your favorite chocolate treat, of course!) and let the decadence of Chicken Soup for the Chocolate Lover’s Soul add even more richness and sweetness to your life. 
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781453275399
  • Publisher: Chicken Soup for the Soul Publishing
  • Publication date: 2/5/2013
  • Series: Chicken Soup for the Soul Series
  • Sold by: Barnes & Noble
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 220
  • Sales rank: 297,642
  • File size: 2 MB

Meet the Author

Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen are the #1 New York Times and USA Today bestselling authors of the Chicken Soup for the Soul series. They are professional speakers who have dedicated their lives to enhancing the personal and professional development of others. Patricia Lorenz is a renowned inspirational, art-of-living writer and speaker, and the author of six books. She has contributed to twenty-seven Chicken Soup for the Soul books, sixteen Daily Guideposts books, and four dozen anthologies. An award-winning newspaper columnist, Lorenz has had more than four hundred articles published in numerous magazines and newspapers. She lives in Largo, Florida.   
Jack Canfield is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Chicken Soup for the Soul series. He is a professional speaker who has dedicated his life to enhancing the personal and professional development of others.
Mark Victor Hansen is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Chicken Soup for the Soul series. He is a professional speaker who has dedicated his life to enhancing the personal and professional development of others.


While Jack Canfield himself may not necessarily be a household name, it's very likely that you have heard of his famed Chicken Soup for the Soul series and nearly as likely that you have at least one of them sitting on your very own bookshelf! Having got his start as an inspirational speaker, Canfield's own story is nothing less than inspirational.

Jack Canfield had been traveling around delivering key note speeches and organizing workshops to help audiences build their self-esteem and maximize their potential when he had an in-flight brainstorm that changed his life. While flying home from a gig, Canfield realized that the very same advice he had been delivering during his in-person addresses could potentially form the basis of a book. Canfield used inspirational stories he'd gleaned over the years as the basis of his speeches, and he thought it would be a terrific idea to gather together 101 inspirational stories and anthologize them in a single volume. Upon returning home, Canfield approached friend and author Mark Victor Hansen about his concept. Hansen agreed it was a great idea, and the two men set about finding a publisher. Believe it or not, the mega-selling series was not an easy sell to publishers. "We were rejected by 123 publishers all told," Canfield told "The first time we went to New York, we visited with about a dozen publishers in a two day period with our agent, and nobody wanted it. They all said it was a stupid title, that nobody bought collections of short stories, that there was no edge -- no sex, no violence. Why would anyone read it?"

Canfield wisely practiced what he preached -- and persisted. Ultimately, he and Hansen sold the first Chicken Soup for the Soul book to a small press based in Deerfield Beach, Florida, called Health Communications. The rest, as they say, is history. There are currently 80 million copies of the Chicken Soup books in print, with subjects as varied as Chicken Soup For the Horse Lover's Soul and Chicken Soup For the Prisoner's Soul. Canfield and Hansen ranked as the top-selling authors of 1997 and are multiple New York Times bestsellers. Most important of all, the inspirational stories they have gathered in their many volumes have improved the lives of countless readers.

This year, expect to see Canfield's name gracing the covers of such titles as Chicken Soup For the Scrapbooker's Soul, Chicken Soup For the Mother and Son Soul, and Chicken Soup For the African American Woman's Soul. He and Hansen have also launched the all-new "Healthy Living" series and 8 titles in that series have already been released this year. There is also the fascinating You've GOT to Read This Book!, in which Canfield compiles personal accounts by 55 people each discussing a book that has changed his or her life. The most compelling of these may be the story of young entrepreneur Farrah Gray, who read Deepak Chopra's The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success at the age of 11 and made his first million dollars at the age of 14!

With no sign of slowing down, Canfield continues to be an inspiration to millions, who fortunately refused to give up when it seemed as though he would never even get his first book published. "Mark and I are big believers in perseverance," he said. "If you have a vision and a life purpose, and you believe in it, then you do not let external events tell you what is so. You follow your internal guidance and follow your bliss, as Joseph Campbell used to say."

Good To Know

Canfield is the founder of two California based self-esteem programs, "Self-Esteem Seminars" in Santa Barbara and "The Foundation For Self Esteem" in Culver City.

Writing the first Chicken Soup book was a lot more daunting than Canfield expected. After the first three years of research, he and Mark Victor Hansen had only compiled 68 stories -- 33 tales shy of their goal of 101 stories.

Along with co-writing dozens of full-length books, Canfield also publishes a free biweekly newsletter called Success Strategies.

Some fun and fascinating outtakes from our interview with Canfield:

"My inspiration for writing comes from my passion for teaching others how to live more effective lives. I started out as a history teacher in an all-black inner city high school in Chicago, graduated to a teacher trainer, then psychotherapist, then trainer of therapists, then large group transformational trainer and then a writer and keynote speaker. All along the way, my desire was to make a difference, to help people live more fulfilling lives. That is what I still do today. Most people don't know this but I was not a good writer in college. I got a C in composition. Nobody would have ever believed I would grow up to be a bestselling author."

"I play guitar, and I am learning to play the piano. I love movies and some TV shows. My favorites are Six Feet Under, Grey's Anatomy, House and Lost. I love to play Scrabble, poker and backgammon with my in-laws, nieces and nephews. We really get into it. I love to travel. I have been to 25 countries and try to add two or three new ones every year."

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    1. Hometown:
      Santa Barbara, California
    1. Date of Birth:
      August 19, 1944
    2. Place of Birth:
      Fort Worth, Texas
    1. Education:
      B.A. in History, Harvard University, 1966; M.A.T. Program, University of Chicago, 1968; M.Ed., U. of Massachusetts, 1973
    2. Website:

Read an Excerpt

Delectable Delights

Fifteen-Cent Surprise
You're on my list of things I love most—
right below chocolate.
Mary Englund Murphy

It was December 1963. Jack and I wanted to give each other something special on our first Christmas together, but we had no extra money for gifts. We had dated, fallen in love, and married all in the span of three months. We were young, in love, and broke—flat broke.

Jack was a private in the Marine Corps. He was stationed at the Naval Weapons Station, Charleston, South Carolina. The nicest house we could afford on Jack's ninety-dollar-a-month salary was half of a rickety old duplex. It sat smack-dab in the middle of a cow pasture on the backside of Goose Creek. It was drafty, the roof leaked, and it had no hot water. But we were together, and that was what mattered most to us.

Unknown to me, as December rolled along, Jack was determined to surprise me with something on our first Christmas together. On December 19, he hid a small hatchet under his field jacket. He slid his hands into his work gloves, pulled his cap down to keep his ears warm, and took a moonlit stroll to the back side of the cow pasture. About an hour later he returned with a pathetic little pine tree and a huge grin. That little tree's scrawny branches spread out like angel's wings to me. I welcomed the surprise with childish delight.

'Here's an empty coffee can, Jack. We can stand the tree in it,' I said. Jack filled the coffee can with South Carolina clay and jammed the tree's tiny trunk into it. I draped one of my scarves around the can. Then I decorated the pitiful tree with my earrings, necklaces, and bracelets. The rhinestones glittered like tinsel. 'It's not the biggest tree in the world, but it's the most beautiful Christmas tree I've ever had,' I said as I planted a kiss on Jack's cheek. I leaned on his strong shoulder and sighed with happiness.

But Jack wasn't satisfied. He wanted a gift to place under that tree. On Christmas Eve he stopped at the PX on his way home from duty. He had a grand total of twenty-one cents in his pocket. For an hour he walked up and down the aisles searching for something—anything—he could buy for the love of his life with such meager ­savings. He had almost given up when his eyes locked on to a small sign that read '15¢.' He grabbed one, paid for it, and headed home with his treasure tucked inside the pocket of his field jacket.

That night Jack and I ate bologna sandwiches in front of our Christmas tree. We sang Christmas carols and snuggled near the gas space heater. Around midnight Jack disappeared into the bedroom. He reappeared with his right hand hidden behind his back. His mouth went dry and his hands shook as he announced, 'Close your eyes now. It's a surprise.'

'Oh, Jack, you shouldn't have spent money on a gift. We can't afford it.'
'I couldn't let Christmas come and go without doing something special for the most beautiful girl in the world. Close your eyes, and hold out your hand.'
I must admit I was excited. I giggled like a kid. Jack placed his treasure in my open palm. 'I know it isn't much. But, well, it's your favorite and you're my favorite.' He exhaled loudly. 'Merry Christmas!'

I opened my eyes. Resting in my palm was a miniature box containing four chocolate-covered confections. I pulled the little treasure close to my heart, then wrapped both arms around my hero's neck.

'This is the most wonderful gift I've ever received. It's so good to be loved by you, Jack. I can't believe that you're all mine. You're the best thing about my life.'

In the years that followed, our finances improved. Each Christmas the trees got fancier. Each year the presents got bigger and more expensive. But for thirty-four Christmases one gift occupied a place of honor under our Christmas tree. Every year until his death, Jack gave me his love—wrapped in a box of chocolate. And every year he became more and more my hero.

Jean Tomlinson As told to Jean Matthew Hall

Skinny Dotty and Her Chocolates

All I really need is love, but a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt!
Lucy Van Pelt Peanuts, Charles M. Schulz

I live in a co-op apartment in Chelsea, New York City. It's like a small town here—our own little community. There's a family feeling, complete with gossip and tiffs and warm hugs and belly laughs. Skinny Dotty is a fixture. One time I asked if I could paint her portrait. She said, 'Maybe if I were younger and didn't have so many wrinkles. But it's too late now.' I asked her how old she was, and she wagged her finger back and forth and said, 'I'll never tell.' I'm left to guess she's seventy-five.

Dotty is shaped like a pencil, her blond hair in a bob where the eraser would be. She loves to wear clothes with pictures of cats on them—baseball caps with cats, T-shirts with cats, sneakers with cats, socks with cats, purses with cats.

Dotty spends most of her time checking on other people's cats and watering plants in the neighbors' apartments. I see her in the lobby, on the elevator, or when I pass through our private garden. Every time I see Dotty, she insists on giving me chocolate, handfuls of it. I try to refuse, worried about my dental bills and my waistline, but she ignores me and puts gobs of the little chocolates right into my pockets. Because I've tried to refuse, my guilt is gone. I eat each one, slowly, ecstatically, savoring every rich, creamy bite.

The superintendent's office is a cubicle right off the lobby entrance. It has a window that faces the lobby. A million years ago, Dotty placed a glass bowl on the ledge of the window and she fills it with chocolates every single day. I've witnessed the mailman grab whole handfuls and push them deep into his pockets. He thinks I don't see him.

Violet, a cranky, stout fiftyish woman who kvetches loudly at every annual shareholder meeting, regularly swipes more than her share. When she stands next to skinny Dotty, they look like the number ten. When Violet corners me in the lobby and I make the mistake of asking, 'How are you?' she responds with her litany of complaints.

Violet snatches handfuls of the chocolates, snaps her fake snakeskin purse open, drops the chocolates in, plink, plink, plunk, then she snaps the purse shut. She doesn't even care that I see her. If I were to ask why she took so many, I'm sure she'd say, 'Because nobody knows how I suffer.'
Violet doesn't tip the staff at Christmas. Dotty tips them and makes them cookies, even though she can't possibly be wealthy. Her husband was ill and out of work for a very long time. He would sit in the garden in his wheelchair with a book on his lap, snoring. Dotty often came downstairs and put a blanket over his legs while he snoozed. He reminded me of a beat-up old lawn chair. One night Jimmy died in his sleep. That week when I ran into Dotty in the lobby, she looked disoriented.

I asked, 'What's wrong?'
'Jimmy died,' she said.
'I'm so sorry to hear,' I said. 'You must miss him terribly.'
'Yes, the apartment is so quiet now.' Her voice trailed off and she looked down at her sneakers with the cats on them. Then, as if someone changed the channel, she perked up and said, 'Want some chocolates?'

I wanted to say something about Jimmy, about her pain, but instead I responded to her question, 'Oh, no, you keep them for yourself.'
As usual, she ignored me and stuffed a handful into my jacket pocket. As soon as I got to the elevator, I popped one into my mouth. The chocolate felt warm and snuggly and melted over my tongue. I felt a slight elevation in my mood. I slowly unwrapped the next one. I listened to the tin foil crinkle as I whiffed that spellbinding smell. Pop, it went into my mouth. By the time I got to my apartment on the third floor, all five chocolates had disappeared down the hatch and my day had improved 100 percent.

I often saw Dotty heading over to fill the glass bowl with a red and white bag from CVS drugstore. One day while I was at CVS, I walked over to the candy aisle and was surprised by how much those bags of chocolates cost. I suddenly felt bad for skinny Dotty always worrying about everybody else's chocolate cravings. I decided to surprise her and buy chocolates for her. I stocked my cart with Hershey's Kisses, mini-Snickers, Milk Duds, and Reese's Pieces.
I headed back to the building. I entered through the back gate that opens to the garden, and sure enough, there was Dotty, as usual, chatting with a neighbor on a bench. I ran up to Dotty with a wide, proud grin.

'These are for you, my dear!' I exclaimed as I handed over the stuffed plastic bag.
'Oh, what's this? Aren't you sweet,' she said, smiling. But when she opened the bag her eyebrows twisted and her smile withered.
'What's wrong?' I said.
'I don't like chocolate,' she said.
'But, but . . .' I sputtered, 'then why do you always buy it for everybody?'
'So people will smile at me,' she said, very matter-of-factly.

I felt embarrassed, as if she were standing there naked. I wanted to cover her up. I wanted to drape a shawl around her bony shoulders. I wanted to fold her little pencil frame and stick her on my lap. It was all I could do not to burst out crying.
I breathed in deeply and summoned my composure. I gave her a gigantic hug and told her how lucky we all are to have her looking after us. Skinny Dotty beamed and handed me back the big bag of chocolates. I walked over to the glass bowl on the ledge and filled it up to the top.

Dorri Olds

Cards and Kisses

I believe there's biblical evidence that confirms there will be chocolate in heaven. Revelation 7:17 says there will be no more tears. That pretty much cinches it for me.
Rhonda Rhea

It was Valentine's Day, and we were broke. It wasn't uncommon for us to be low on funds. Raising three kids on a pastor's salary often left us with 'too much month at the end of the money.' My husband, Bruce, complained, 'You're my valentine and I don't have anything for you on Valentine's Day. I don't have money for flowers, much less jewelry.'

Trying to comfort him, I explained, 'You don't have to get me expensive stuff. We try to teach the folks at church not to go into debt when a heartfelt card is more than enough.' Bruce took my heartfelt card idea to heart.

That afternoon I stopped by the church office after picking the kids up from school. Bruce waved me into his office and presented me with a bright red envelope and a small bag of Hershey's Kisses before he headed downstairs to a meeting. Opening the card, I found myself lost in the words and the images as tears welled up in my eyes.

The secretary called to me from the outer office, bringing me back to reality, 'I have some questions about brochures for the upcoming women's event. Can you help me?' she asked. I laid the card down on my husband's desk and yelled back, 'I'll be right there.'

I wasn't gone for more than twenty minutes, but when I returned, I found my oldest daughter, Sarah, curled up like a cat in her dad's wingback chair, cradling the card carefully in her lap and polishing off what little was left of the Hershey's Kisses. 'This card is beautiful, Mom,' she cooed, stroking it with her sticky, chocolate-covered fingers. 'Who gave it to you?'

'Well, I hope Daddy did, considering what it says.' I chuckled.
'It's the most awesome card I've ever seen,' she responded, batting her big blue eyes as only a thirteen-year-old girl with a headful of romantic notions could do. Just then my husband walked through his office door. Grabbing him around the neck I planted a big kiss—one on each cheek. 'Wow, what was that for?'
'The first kiss was for my beautiful card; the second one was for teaching our daughter by example to choose a man who will love and cherish her,' I whispered in his ear.

'I need to give you more cards,' Bruce smiled.
'And chocolate,' I quipped as we all gathered up my things to head home. I kept the card out on the kitchen counter to enjoy for a while before I tucked it into my keepsake drawer to remember forever.

Eight Valentine's Days passed and that beautiful blue-eyed thirteen-year-old was now a blushing bride. I opened my keepsake drawer, looking for grandma's jewelry to offer her something old to go with the something new and borrowed to round out her wedding repertoire. There next to grandma's pearls was the Valentine's Day card—complete with chocolate fingerprints.

The experts are right: values are caught not taught. Sarah was about to marry Shaun, who adored her just like her daddy adored her mom. And now it's Shaun's turn to keep his admiring wife in beautiful cards and chocolate Kisses—forever.

Linda Newton

©2007. Jean Tomlinson, Dorri Olds, and Linda Newton. All rights reserved. Reprinted from Chicken Soup for the Chocolate Lover's Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, and Patricia Lorenz. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the publisher. Publisher: Health Communications, Inc., 3201 SW 15th Street , Deerfield Beach , FL 33442.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 17, 2013

    Choacolate Fevr Chocoalate Fever!!!!!

    Tells not only stories about chocoalate but about cating for other people.

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